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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080792">The Transcendence of Celestial Cake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatScottishShipper/pseuds/ThatScottishShipper'>ThatScottishShipper</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Books, Books of Yuletide, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Don’t repost to another site, Fade to Drink and Cake, Fic Exchange, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Reading, implied/referenced alcohol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:47:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,004</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatScottishShipper/pseuds/ThatScottishShipper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Inside a bookshop on a rainy day, Aziraphale thinks about Crowley, and what the Daemon means to him.</p><p>*Written for the Books of Yuletide Exchange 2020.*</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Books of Yule</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Transcendence of Celestial Cake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrybutdamaged/gifts">sultrybutdamaged</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale adored the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he sat in his plump patch armchair in the cluttered confines of his closed bookshop, charmed with the company of his favourite fallen Angel, he took in the unspoken atmosphere and smiled delightfully. Though he appreciated their talks of cosmological philosophy into the wee hours of the morning with some bubbly, or simpler observations of the human folk passing by (“Butcher, baker, or candlestick maker, Angel?”), Aziraphale took great comfort in their silent moments together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some mortals disliked the quiet, seeking to fill the void whenever they could - a personal peeve inside this sanctuary of antique books. However, to Aziraphale, he learned that chatter was not always necessary in feeling happy and content, especially with Crowley.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Currently lounging luminously upon the two person seater, flicking through a time about human psychology (“a part of the 9-5,”) the Daemon crossed his legs, bopping his foot in intrigue. Behind those black spectacles, Aziraphale knew those slit golden eyes were pouring over </span>
  <em>
    <span>every</span>
  </em>
  <span> word carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘How marvellous,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Angel thought, charmingly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘being in the presence of such an avid reader.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight of Crowley lost in the peaceful moment, one he shared with Aziraphale, warmed his entire being.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a satisfied sigh, Aziraphale reclined back with his porcelain cup of milk honey tea, basking in the knowledge that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was all he needed in life. Himself and Crowley, in perfect companionship bliss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mortals had often attempted to define their relationship, rather intrusively if he did say so himself. Very often, Crowley - whether at their favourite restaurant, sitting together on the bus, or being seen so often at the bookshop - was assumed to be his </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their fleeting moments of linking arms or holding hands on their walks through Hyde Park, or Crowley gifting a peck of Aziraphale’s cherub cheek always invited looks or questions. They were not always negative, of course, but it was the assumption that bothered Aziraphale so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was that sort of society, where relationships were prioritised and separated as either friendships, or... something more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All Aziraphale knew was that Crowley was his dearest friend, someone he simply could not live without. Someone whose emotional and personal connection to him transcended labels. Their bond just </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the Angel wouldn’t have it any other way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was his everything, wrapping him in a precious bundle of care he never experienced before. Even on opposite ends of the scales, Aziraphale’s supportive wings of light always spread out to protect Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘And he too repaid in kind.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> A faint memory in a church came to mind, where a stubborn Daemon risked scorched feet on holy ground, for no other reason than to save a dear friend.</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘At least he need not fear treading on angelic floors here.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dispelling old memories, Aziraphale gazed over at Crowley, only to find that he was no longer reading. The non-fiction paperback (that he admittedly obtained for his company) found itself closed upon the nearest table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Appreciating the respect Crowley displayed for his books, even those he did not always agree with, Aziraphale watched as the red-haired Daemon trailed his fingers along the leaves of nearby potted plants.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Crowley’s darlings.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> The vibrant green leaves, bringing a natural source of life and colour to the subdued wooden interior of the bookshop, swayed gently in an unseen breeze. A charmed smile came upon Aziraphale’s face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Goodness, they have settled.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had been a surprising part of Crowley’s moving in some time ago. He had brought very little into their now shared abode, with the exception of a few small plant pots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plants that seemed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>shake?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It took very little time at all, between Aziraphale’s sweet coaxing and Crowley’s less foul moods, for the tiny greens to sprout to life, nearly reaching the ceiling in cosier rooms. Soon after, it gave the Angel an opportunity to listen to Crowley’s innermost thoughts when he poured over his plants like how a mortal might a diary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they always continued to grow, reacting to the emotions around them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Outside, the rain poured, spattering against the windows and casting speckled shadows into the rooms. Customers often darted into the shop, seeking refuge from the elements only to find sanctuary in worlds beyond their own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every book had stories to tell, offering respite for a time to those that delved into pages composed by literary storytellers from history to the modern era. And it was Aziraphale’s utmost pleasure to assist mortals in finding those stories, some of which offered insight, reflection or simply an escape to the readers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Often, curled up beside the fireplace, their wings overlapping each other, the celestial beings shared a book together, reading page after page while indulging their thoughts about the texts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley often joked about it being a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘two entity book club,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he never showed any signs of annoyance or boredom. If anything, he offered his own takes on </span>
  <em>
    <span>a classic about the sins of the bourgeois class</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>the grey morality of characters in more contemporary works and how they reflect the world at large</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how engaged their debates - not arguments - became, Aziraphale never felt Crowley’s energies shifting into anger or something much more unpleasant. He always kept his feathery black wing wrapped around the Angel’s one, his mischievous nature barely masked as he made point after point.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘How could I ever be irritated by such enthusiasm when it comes to literature?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Want another cheeky slice, Angel?”</span>
</p><p>Aziraphale came to, realising that Crowley now towered over him, holding out a plate of frosty vanilla cake. Between the fingers of his other hand, an unopened bottle of sparkling wine beckoned to him.</p><p>
  <span>Tucked under his arm, an inviting prelude to their delightful night, was a book, awaiting their hungry eyes and endless opinions lasting well into the earliest hours of the morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a tender smile, Aziraphale quickly sipped the last of his tea, preparing for something a little stronger for their evening discussion by the fireplace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You read my mind, Crowley.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Written for sultrybutdamaged as part of the Books of Yuletide Exchange 2020 for the prompt “Aziraphale and Crowley, friendship or queerplatonic.”</p><p>Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship in Good Omens is fantastic in every way it can be interpreted. This time, I chose queerplatonic representation since after the TV series dropped, many fans of the show had praised it for this exact kind of connection. It’s undeniable they have such a close and meaningful dynamic, so I wanted to explore two people (celestial beings?) sharing a profoundly deep connection that they feel doesn’t quite fit the rigid labels that society kind of expects of it, but care so deeply for one another.</p><p>Aziraphale’s commentary on the locals placing their definitions upon it comes from that place. He just knows that Crowley is his nearest and dearest person, where his comforting presence in his life is all he needs.</p><p>The concept of a comforting silence kind of came from me and my girlfriend, who often sit in silence, but enjoy each other’s company without words. Of course, we talk a lot together (we’re also best friends!) but we can easily be in a room together, doing our own things like playing video games or reading and not need to “fill the silence for the sake of filling it.” It’s a nice feeling, so I wanted to share that feeling with a character I feel could understand that sentiment very well.</p><p>It’s not the most dramatic or eventful piece, but I hoped to capture a blissful sense of peace with Aziraphale and Crowley in a wild world. The idea of them enjoying a calm moment together, away from the world, felt reassuring in a way. I also hope their relationship was written in a respectful and understood manner too.</p><p>Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. 👼🏼😈</p></blockquote></div></div>
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